Author's note: This is my first fanfic in quite some time, so I hope it's up to snuff. Even if I did own Sherlock I'm not sure what I'd do with him. Reviews always welcome, enjoy!

Chapter 1.

Molly Hooper struggled to reach the counter with a tray of blood samples and two petri dishes containing an unidentified bodily fluid. The sleeve of her lab coat snagged on the cabinet handle and the tray went lopsided and slid to the floor, clattering. Leaving the tray on the floor and walking around the puddles, she marched to the counter, picked up a pen and threw it against the wall of refrigerators. Letting all the tension of the past week out, Molly screamed a long, guttural scream. She thought she was alone, but after she inhaled and exhaled deeply she spun around to find Sherlock standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

"Molly, may I ask what caused you to throw a pen at a wall of deceased and scream?" A blush plumed on her cheeks and she looked down at the floor. Not at all professional, leaving part of a patient down there like that, but the toll of the week had made her ability to care disappear.

"Why ask? Y-you know. You always know." He had pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and now he slipped it back into his coat to look around the room. She took the opportunity to stare at him. He was a wall of stone when he observed; nothing outgoing while everything went in. He was so fascinating… Even though she knew it was a hopeless attraction, she just couldn't help herself. He stretched his shoulders back and kinked his neck to the right, not realizing how perfectly the movement complimented his chest through the tight black shirt. He returned his gaze back to her, still observing, then his eyes unfocused, "No."

"It's been a rough week." She said, spinning paper towels from the dispenser. He rolled his eyes.

"Molly. The bags under your eyes- though alleviated by makeup, the haphazard stacks of paperwork on your normally tidy desk, the near-empty bottle of Mountain Dew and the fact that your hair is not only held up, but back by a headband told me that. That isn't what I asked."

She laid one hand on the counter and placed the other one on her hip. "The hospital is undergoing a building-wide salary reduction, which means that the flat I've been living in for the past two years is no longer in my budget. I've sent out a resume and while everyone I've talked to has responded very kindly, none of the other metro hospitals are hiring for their morgues right now."

"Hmm." He said. Even a hmm sounded good in his voice. She wondered briefly if that wasn't what God's voice sounded like and then shook the thought from her mind. God's voice had to sound better-and if it did she couldn't wait to die. He had brought samples of shoe leather with him and started to examine them under the microscope. She began to clean up the mess and, while not faced with his paralyzing face or voice directly, she began to feel angry. She was tired of his questions which seemed sincere initially, but which were really always intended to discern whether or not her emotional state would affect his ability to work. Why'd he have to be so damned unconcerned? Picking up the petri dishes and broken glass with gloved hands, she stood to throw them away, only to come face to face with him.

"Oh!" She gasped.

"Molly, I think I might have a solution to your problem that would be of mutual benefit."

"Do you think you could maybe not do that?" She asked, throwing the glass into the bin.

His brows furrowed and his eyes were at once quizzical and gorgeous. "Do what?"

"Sneak up on people like that. You don't make any noise, you know."

He sighed, and she thought she could detect a suppressed eye-roll. "Why does that bother everyone? I wouldn't be much use in my field if I weren't discreet."

There it was; she knew it had been coming; another mysterious little statement that made her wonder even more about what he did when he wasn't in the morgue. Did he know what he was doing to her?

She tried not to make the question sound jealous, "Who's everyone?" In an effort to appear nonchalant she took a swig of her Mountain Dew.

"John and Mrs. Hudson! They're always nagging me about it. That and the fingers in the fridge. About your dilemma-there are some things that John can't help me with, some things that sensitive as John is, need a woman's approach. Maybe you could help me with them?"

This ill-timed comment made her choke and sputter. Sherlock, viewing the projection of liquid with open disgust said, "Then again, maybe John will do."

"No, I was just thinking about something. Sorry. What things?"

He paused, "As you know I 'delete' any knowledge that isn't useful to me and therefore I sometimes lack the ability to interpret the motives of others. I also need a second pair of eyes for undercover and escort duties lately. Apparently John isn't too keen on the idea of escorting me places with her around. Seems to think three people can't go on a date."

She shook her head, grinning, "Especially not when it's always somewhere you want to go." She murmured.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Sherlock, nice as your offer is, I can't work for free. I don't see the mutual benefit to this."

"No, no, silly git. I'll pay you up to what is being skimmed off your salary, depending on the amount of days you can assist me and you can continue to live in your flat." Her mouth hung open; he didn't appear to be joking.

"But you don't pay John for assisting you."

He smirked, "That's because he'll do it for free. Our little secret." Sherlock Holmes was seriously offering her employment. The thought was both tantalizing and frightening at the same time. She could hardly keep a grip on her life as it was, seeing him only at St. Bart's-how would seeing him more frequently affect her sanity? A glance at those eyes and her mind was made up. "I'll do it."

"Good. I'll text you when I need you." He said and put his coat on-a work of art in itself. She'd been tempted on many an occasion to ask him where he'd bought it. He walked towards the door.


He paused but didn't turn, "Yes?"

"I can't work for you during the day. At least not during my shifts here."

"You already do." He disappeared beyond the frosted glass doors and she exhaled. What did she just get herself into?